Prince Geldion stomped across the muddy field, cursing the rain, cursing the wind, cursing the night, and cursing the impending war. Head down and thoroughly consumed by his anger, the volatile Prince walked right into one guard, who started to protest until he recognized the perpetrator. Then the common soldier stood straight and silent, eyes wide and not even daring to blink or breathe!

Geldion's dark eyes bored into the frightened man, the Prince's well-earned reputation for ferocity making the look more ominous indeed. Geldion said not a word - didn't have to - just let his imposing stare linger over his shoulder as he sloshed away.

He wished a star would come out, or the moon. Anything but these clouds. Geldion hated riding in the mud, where with every stride his horse took he felt as if they would slip sideways and pitch over. And this coming ride would be forced, he knew, driven by his father's insatiable desire to put Dilnamarra under Connacht's widening thumb.

Dilnamarra, and all of Faerie. Kinnemore had always been ambitious and protective of his realm, but now those feelings had reached new heights. Geldion wasn't sure what had changed, beyond the reforming of Cedric Donigarten's spear and the slaying of the dragon. So Robert was gone, but when was the last time anyone had seen the wyrm out of his distant mountain hole anyway? And so the spear was whole, but who might wield it, and even if such a hero might be found, what grudge would he hold against Connacht? To Geldion's thinking, the politics remained the same. Kin-nemore was still King and as far as the Prince knew, the people of all the communities still swore fealty to him. True, the army of Connacht, led by Geldion, had skirmished with the folk of Braemar and Drochit, but that had been an excusable faux pas, an indiscretion born on dragon wings as Robert the Wretched had terrorized the land. Diplomacy would certainly calm the realm and put all back in line.

That didn't seem good enough for King Kinnemore.

No, not Kinnemore, Geldion decided, and a hiss escaped his lips as he continued on his trek around the muddy perimeter of his encampment. Not his father, because his father made no independent decisions concerning the kingdom. Not anymore. This impending war was driven not from Connacht, but from Ynis Gwydrin, the Isle of Glass, the home of Ceridwen the witch.

"A place yous ne'er been," a raspy voice remarked, and the Prince skidded to a stop, went down into a crouch, and peered all around, his hand on the hilt of his belted dirk. A moment later, with nothing in sight, he straightened. A puzzled expression crossed Geldion's face as he came to realize that whoever, or whatever, had spoken to him had apparently read his mind.

Or had it been merely the drifting words of a distant, unrelated conversation?

"Nay, I was spaking to yous, Princes Geldion," the voice replied, and Geldion whipped out his dirk and fell back into the crouch once more.

"Above yous," croaked the voice. Geldion looked up to watch the descent of a bat-winged monkey, its torso nearly as large as his own and with a wingspan twice his height. The creature landed quietly in the mud before the Prince and stood at ease, showing no fear of or respect at all for Geldion's waving dirk.

"Who are you, and where are you from?" Geldion demanded.

The monkey bat smiled, showing a wicked row of sharpened fangs. "Where?" it echoed incredulously, as though the answer should have been obvious.

"Ynis Gwydrin," Geldion reasoned. He saw some movement to the side and behind the monkey bat, his soldiers rushing to the scene. As the creature chuckled its confirmation that it was indeed a messenger of Ceridwen, the Prince held up his free hand to keep the soldiers at bay.

"Come from Ceridwen for Geldion," the monkey bat rasped. "The Lady would see Geldion." "I am to ride . . ." the Prince started to ask.

"To fly," the monkey bat interrupted and corrected. "To fly with me." It held out its clawed hands towards the Prince, inviting him into an embrace.

An involuntary shudder coursed along Geldion's spine, and he eyed the creature skeptically, not replacing his weapon on his belt. His mind soared down several possibilities, not the least of which was warning him that Ceridwen, sensing his doubts and his anger at his father, might" be trying to get him out of the way. He didn't replace the dirk on his belt; he'd not walk into such a trap.

But the witch had apparently expected his resistance. There came a sudden flurry from above, and a second monkey bat dropped down atop the Prince's shoulders, clawed feet and hands catching a tight hold on Geldion's traveling cloak. Geldion was off the ground before he could react, and with the cloak bundling about his shoulders, his overhead chop with the dirk did little damage.

Soldiers cried out and charged; the first monkey bat leaped away, pounding wings quickly taking it above the reach of the soldiers' long pikes and swords.

Geldion continued to struggle, freed up one arm and half turned to get into a striking posture.

"Would yous fall?" came a question from the darkness, from the first monkey bat, Geldion realized.

Those sobering words forced the Prince to look down and consider his position. He was already fully thirty feet from the ground and climbing rapidly. He could stick his captor, but a wound on this monkey bat would result in a drop that was not appealing.

"The Lady would see Geldion," the first monkey bat said again, and off they soared, through the driving rain and wind. There were more than two of the creatures, the Prince soon learned; there were more than twenty. Ceridwen was never one to take chances.

Half the army was roused by that time, torches sputtering to life against the rain all across the muddy field. Hosts of archers bent their great yew bows skyward. But the night was dark and their efforts futile. Word went immediately to Kinnemore, but the King, apparently not surprised by Ceridwen's visitors, brushed away his soldiers' concerns and bade them go back to their watch and their sleep.  

Prince Geldion saw little from his high perch in the dark sky. Every so often, the winged caravan would pass over a hamlet, nestled in the rolling fields east of Connacht, and the lights from windows would remind the abducted man of just how high he was.

Then the monkey bats fast descended, touching down on the wet grass, where they were met by a second group.

Again the Prince was scooped up, and off the fresher couriers flew. There came a second exchange, and then a third, and not so long after that, with the sky still dark in the throes of night, Geldion saw great looming shadows all about him.

They had come to Penllyn, the mountainous region surrounding Loch Gwydrin, the Lake of Glass. Geldion had never been here before - few had - but he knew many tales of the place. Everyone in Faerie had heard tales of the witch's home.

The sun was just peeking over the eastern rim, in their faces, as the troupe flapped through a pass between two towering peaks and came in sight of the still waters of the famed mountain lake.

Slanted rays touched upon its surface, turning the waters fiery golden. Geldion watched unblinking as the light grew and the scene unfolded. Ynis Gwydrin, the isle, came into sight, and then, the witch's castle, a crystalline palace of soaring spires that caught the morning light in a dazzling display of a million multicolored reflections.

Despite his general surliness, and his more pointed anger at being abducted, the helpless Prince could not hide his awe at the magnificent sight. No tales could do Ynis Gwydrin justice; no paintings, no sculptures, could capture the magic of this place and this crystalline castle.

Geldion took a deep breath to compose himself, and to whisper a reminder that the magic of Ynis Gwydrin was surely* tainted by danger. This was Ceridwen's island, Ceridwen's castle, and a single wrong word would ensure that he never left the place alive - at least, not as a human. Ceridwen had a reputation for turning people into barnyard animals.

With that disquieting thought in mind, Geldion stepped down onto the isle, on a stone path through the sand that led to the crystalline castle's towering front doors. The monkey bats herded him towards the door, and he offered no resistance. (Where did they think he might run?) At the portal, he was met by a group of goblins, ugly hunched creatures with sloping foreheads and overgrown canines curling grotesquely over saliva-wetted lips that seemed too stretched for their mouths. Their skin was a disgusting yellow-green in color and they smelled like raw meat that had been too long in the sun.

"Geek," one spindly-limbed goblin explained, poking a gnarly finger into its small chest. The goblin reached out to take Geldion's arm, but the Prince promptly slapped the dirty hand away.

"I can offer no resistance on Ynis Gwydrin," Geldion explained. "If you mean to lead me to Ceridwen, then lead on. Else moveaway, on threat of your life!"

Geek sputtered and shook his ugly head, muttering something uncomplimentary about "peoples." He mentioned the name of Ceridwen, his "Lady," as Geldion had expected, and motioned for the Prince and the goblin guards to follow.

Inside the castle, they moved swiftly along mirrored corridors, and Geldion soon lost all sense of direction. He didn't much care, though, for he had no expectations of escape. He was in the lair of mighty Ceridwen, the sorceress, and in here, he knew well, he could only leave when Ceridwen allowed him to leave.

Geek stopped at a large wooden door and tentatively clicked the knocker a couple of times.

Geldion understood the goblin's nervousness. The guards shuffled uneasily behind him, and he got the distinct feeling that they did not want to be in this place.

The door swung in, apparently of its own accord, and suddenly Geek and Geldion were standing alone in the corridor, for the other goblins had taken full flight back the way they had come.

A warm glow emanated from beyond the opened door, the tinge of an inviting, blazing fire. From the corridor, Geldion could see only a portion of the room. A pair of overstuffed chairs were set on the end of a thick bearskin rug, and rich tapestries hung on the far wall. One Geldion recognized as a scene of the court in Connacht, though the work was old and Geldion did not know any of the men and women depicted.

Geek nervously motioned for Geldion to lead the way. If the Prince held any doubts that Ceridwen was in there, they were gone now, considering the goblin's truly fearful expression. Geldion took a deep breath, trying to fully comprehend what was at hand. He had never actually met the witch, though he had spoken several times to the talking crows that were Ceridwen's messengers. His father certainly had sat with Ceridwen, on many occasions, but Kinnemore rarely spoke to anyone of the meetings.

Now Geldion was to meet her, face to face. He looked down at his muddy traveling clothes, realized that in the confusion of the dragon-on-wing and the skirmishes with the eastern towns, he hadn't bathed in several weeks.

Geek made a whining sound and motioned again, more forcefully, for the Prince to go in. Without further delay, proud Geldion obliged, stepping boldly into the room (though he winced a bit when Geek pulled the door closed behind him).

At the head of the bearskin rug was a small divan and next to it a tall woman, taller than Geldion, wearing a white gown that clung to her many curves like some second skin.

There she stood, the legendary sorceress, undeniably beautiful, unearthly beautiful, her hair the color of a raven's wing and her eyes the richest blue. A simple look from those penetrating orbs sent icy chills along Geldion's spine. He wanted to lash out at the witch and fall on his knees and worship her all at the same time. Kinnemore had revealed little about the woman after his meetings with Ceridwen, and suddenly Geldion understood why.

No words could truly communicate the imposing specter of Ceridwen, no words could accurately re-create the aura surrounding this beautiful and awful creature.

"My greetings, Prince Geldion," she said in the sweetest of voices. "It strikes me as odd that we have not met before."

"Lady Ceridwen," Geldion replied with a curt bow.

"Please, do sit down," the witch purred, and she moved to the front of the divan, her shapely legs appearing through a slit in the gown. She sat and stretched languidly to the side, tucking her feet up inside one of the divan's arms and resting her arm over the other.

Geldion never took his eyes off her (couldn't take his eyes off her) as he slid into an overstuffed chair. "Did you enjoy the journey?" Ceridwen asked.

Geldion looked at her curiously, for a moment having no clue as to what she might be talking about. With a start, he suddenly recalled the monkey bats, and the extraordinary trip that had brought him to Ynis Gwydrin. "I prefer to ride," he stammered, feeling positively stupid. "Of course, your . . ." He paused, searching for a word to describe the monkey bats. "Your creatures," he said finally, "were faster than any horse."

"I needed to see you this day," Ceridwen explained.

"Had one of your crows called, I would have come," the Prince started to reply.

"This day," Ceridwen said again, forcefully, coming forward in the divan, blue eyes flashing dangerously. Geldion squirmed and clenched the arms of his seat, and hoped that the witch had not noticed the tremor that ran along his backbone. Geldion had fought a dozen battles, had led his army into combat without hesitation against powerful foes, including giant mountain trolls. But he was scared now, more so than ever before. "And of course, I cannot yet go out from my island," Ceridwen went on calmly, and to the Prince's profound relief, she rested back in the divan. "Else I would have come to you. That would have been easier."

Geldion nodded, again feeling small and stupid. Ceridwen seemed to sense his discomfort, and she smiled, but did not say anything for a long while.

Increasingly uncomfortable, Geldion cleared his throat several times. Why wasn't she talking? he wondered. She had been the one, after all, to convene this meeting. So why wasn't she talking?

A few more minutes slipped by, the witch relaxing comfortably, stretching her porcelain legs (and revealing more of them with every move), while her blue eyes scrutinized the Prince's every nervous shift. "Why am I here?" Geldion finally blurted.

"Because I wished to speak with you," Ceridwen replied, and she went silent again.

"Then speak!" Geldion cried out another long minute later, and he regretted the outburst as soon as it had come forth, thinking that Ceridwen would probably strike him down with a snap of her fingers. And sitting in that room, Geldion held no doubts that she was indeed powerful enough and wicked enough to do it!

But Ceridwen did not strike out at him. She merely laughed, heartily, and tossed her long mane of impossibly thick black hair back from her face.

Geldion had a sudden urge to fall on the floor and grovel before her, and the mischievous way she looked at him made him think that she recognized and understood -  indeed, that she had purposely inspired - that urge.

That realization gave the Prince the courage to withstand the mental assault, though his grip on the arms of his chair grew so tight that his knuckles whitened for lack of blood.

Ceridwen nodded a moment later, as if in approval that Geldion was still stubbornly in his seat.

"The army is gathered?" she asked unexpectedly, shattering the silence.

Geldion stammered, then nodded his head. "Ready to march to Dilnamarra," he replied.

Ceridwen nodded. "Why?" she asked.

Geldion looked at her curiously. Wasn't she the one behind all these plans of conquest? he wondered. "To put down any potential uprising," he answered. "The people are uneasy, speaking of old heroes and dragonslayers. King Kinnemore fears . . ."

Ceridwen cut him off with an upraised hand. "And where are you to go from Dilnamarra?" she prompted.

Geldion shrugged. "To Braemar, I would guess," he said. "And then to Drochit. If the three main villages can be put in line, then all the land . . ."

"And you will fight all the way?" Ceridwen again interrupted. "Your wake will be messy indeed, flooded with the blood of your enemies."

Geldion stroked his stubbly chin with his hand, not quite understanding.

"You do not approve of the plan for conquest," Ceridwen stated more than asked.

Geldion's eyes widened, and he worked hard to keep his breathing steady, wondering why, if Ceridwen knew his thoughts, she had not simply ordered her monkey bats to drop him to his death.

"Speak your thoughts without fear," the calculating witch prompted after a moment of silence, Geldion showing no inclination to respond to what he perceived as an accusation.

"Baron Pwyll slew Robert, so 'tis said," Geldion explained. "Or at least, he was among the group who slew the dragon. I do despise the fat man, but in the eyes of Dilnarmarra's peasants, he is a hero. I do not like the prospects of killing a hero."

"Good," Ceridwen purred.

"What game do you play?" the frustrated Prince, growing bolder by the moment, asked bluntly.

Ceridwen sat up straight, and Geldion nearly lost his breath in surprise. The sorceress seemed suddenly tired of the whole affair. "The army goes to Dilnamarra," she said firmly. "But not for conquest."

"Then why?" Geldion was neither disappointed nor hopeful, just perplexed. He managed to sit back again and regain a bit of his calm.

"You go on the pretense of a ceremony for a hero," Ceridwen said. "Baron Pwyll cannot refuse."

Geldion scratched at his face yet another time, beginning to catch on.

"To let the people view the true hero of the day," Ceridwen continued.

"The true hero," Geldion echoed. "And not Baron Pwyll."

"To let them see King Kinnemore of Connacht," Ceridwen agreed, smiling widely. "The warrior who slew Robert."

Geldion's face crinkled with disbelief and Ceridwen laughed at him. Geldion only shook his head back and forth in reply, hardly believing what the witch was proposing.

"Of course they know the truth," Ceridwen declared. "But Pwyll, that cowardly Baron, will not disagree. He will proclaim your father as the dragonslayer, for all to hear."

Geldion was still shaking his head doubtfully.

"Kinnemore killed the dragon," Ceridwen insisted. "Pwyll will say so with the prospect of war on his doorstep. King Kinnemore will become the hero, and our army will already be in place in Dilnamarra. What then, will poor Baron Pwyll do?" the witch cackled.

"What indeed?" said Geldion, and he did not seem so happy.

"From Dilnamarra, we announce the treachery of Drochit and Braemar," Ceridwen went on, and Geldion was nodding before she even finished the thought, completely expecting it. "Dilnamarra will thus be forced into an unintentional alliance, and when we march to the east, Baron Pwyll will ride between you and your father at the head of the army."

Geldion was still nodding, but he was far from convinced. The plan seemed perfectly simple and devious, and if it worked, it would bring all the land under Kinnemore's thumb in a short time and with minimal fighting. Perfectly simple and perfectly devious, but Geldion noted one serious hitch that the supremely confident Ceridwen might have overlooked. The Prince suspected that there might be more to this fat Baron Pwyll, and to the people of the land, than Ceridwen believed. By all accounts, Pwyll had faced a true and huge and terrible dragon, and not only had survived, but had walked out victorious. And Pwyll had been present on those eastern fields, beside Lord Badenoch of Braemar and Duncan Drochit, when the armies had skirmished. Ceridwen took no note of Geldion's sour expression. Her eyes held a faraway, glassy look, as though she was basking in anticipated conquests. She would be free soon, Geldion knew, and Robert would no longer oppose her. All the land would be Kinnemore's, and Kinnemore was Ceridwen's.

The witch snapped her fingers and the door swung open - and Geek, who had obviously been kneeling against the wood, trying to eavesdrop, stumbled into the room.

"Show the good Prince the way out," the witch purred, showing no concern for her overly curious attendant. "He has much to do."

Geldion remained silent for the rest of the time he was in the crystalline castle, and offered no resistance or no complaint when the monkey bats grabbed him up in their clawed hands and feet and set off from Ynis Gwydrin.

But Geldion was fuming, angry with Ceridwen and her malicious and dangerous plans, and, for some reason that he did not understand, Geldion was angry with his father. He had been anxious for the war, more than willing to take on the upstart Barons and put things aright. His father was the rightful King, and woe to those who did not profess undying fealty to the rightful King!

Suddenly, though, it seemed to Geldion that a righteous war had become a web of intrigue.